


City of Lights

by xaeria



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, George's POV, I know this is cliche I'm sorry, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, accidentally meeting your soulmate, horrible coffeeshop trope, no beta we die like men, the universe works in mysterious ways
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:06:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29647602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaeria/pseuds/xaeria
Summary: He’s seen those eyes before. They’ve appeared in his dreams for the past several days, taunting him. He thought he could escape, but they’ve found him once again.Only this time, it’s real.He screws his eyes shut, praying for it all to be a dream. Maybe if he waits long enough, it will be. When he opens his eyes, he’ll be greeted by the familiar sight of the popcorn ceiling above his bed, the fan that squeaks with each rotation as dust cascades from its blades into the early morning sunlight. He’ll wake up, and then he’ll go to get coffee like he always does. Everything will be normal.He opens his eyes.Dammit.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 4





	City of Lights

**Author's Note:**

> ahaha here's my terrible attempt at writing dnf

George trudges through the snow that covers the sidewalk, the gray slush saturating his already worn boots and affixing a cold misery deep into his bones. A feeling of gloom blankets him as he looks up at the sky, which is just as gray and dismal as the rest of his surroundings. 

_ Why did I ever come here?  _

Even London, which had a lasting reputation for being bleak, wasn’t nearly as bad as the monochromatic purgatory that was New York in the wintertime. All the stories he’d heard of the city’s wonder had painted a picture of a place full of colors and lights and people, a place well worth the thousands of miles of travel. Despite his hate for airplanes, he’d willingly made the journey, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his fists as the people around him gazed in wonder at the landscape of clouds they’d risen above. The trip was only supposed to be for a month, more than enough time for him to become acquainted with the city. But the pandemic broke out, and he’d been forced to stay, the newly implemented travel restrictions chaining him to a place he’d grown to hate. Now, mid-November, he’d learned to navigate around the city as if he’d lived there his entire life. That was the part he hated the most. How could he possibly have come to know this place so well, how could he feel almost at home in a city he despised?

As George continues his trek through the snow, he tries to ignore his surroundings. Masked people pass by on either side of him, some staring at their phones, some merely at the ground, each one too wrapped up in their own lives to notice the world around them.  _ Maybe it’s better that way.  _ Maybe if he could learn to block out the world, he wouldn’t hate it so much. He’d tried to, when he first learned that he wouldn’t be able to leave. But spending hours behind a computer screen rotating between the same three games for months had gotten old fast. He had decided that, for the best of his health, he had to leave his small, dark apartment. Whether for coffee, like this occasion, or just to clear his mind, he forced himself to venture into the city each day. He hated it, but it offered a sort of unpredictability that staying inside never did. At least each day he went out brought a promise of new sights, new people.

George arrives at the coffee shop just as the wind picks up, tiny pinpricks of snow stinging his face and numbing his fingertips. He fumbles with the door’s cold handle, pushing it open to hear the familiar tinkle of a bell that announces his entrance. The woman behind the counter offers a word of greeting, and he nods politely in return. The shop itself is unusually barren. Even in the midst of a pandemic there were always clusters of people inside, their idle conversations dampened by the sounds of espresso machines and steaming milk. Today, there are only three other people in the shop. Two girls sit at a table warming their hands on mugs of hot chocolate while a man sits silently in the back, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. A cup sits discarded next to him, ignored in favor of whatever captivates his attention on the screen. George approaches the counter to order his usual black coffee, then settles into a worn leather chair against the wall as he waits. The two girls in the front have lowered their conversation to a dull whisper. His eyes dart around the coffee shop, searching for something to fixate on, and eventually land on the man in the back, who is still focused on his phone. Though a surgical mask hides half of his face, the screen’s glow illuminates his visible features, casting shadows across the arches of his brow. Light freckles are scattered across his cheeks and forehead, and strands of sandy blond hair fall around his face as he studies his phone. Without warning, he looks up, his bright green eyes meeting George’s for a split second as he raises his eyebrow in amusement. George tears his gaze away, his face flushed red with embarrassment at being caught. He abruptly turns to the window besides him, pretending to be fascinated by the falling snow. For once he is thankful for his mask, the only thing hiding the sheer embarrassment that lies on his face.  _ Stupid, stupid _ .  _ Why did I stare at him for so long?  _ George sits in silent agony for what seems like an eternity, wishing the barista would call his name so he’d have an excuse to leave. When she finally does, he practically sprints to the front. Grabbing his drink, he exits the shop, determined to forget the encounter. The frigid air relieves the burning in his cheeks, and he hastily makes the journey back to his apartment.

By the time he arrives, his coffee is nearly as cold as his hands. He takes a sip, then throws it away in disgust. Scarcely had a trip outside made him feel more morose than before, but between the miserable weather and the scene in the coffee shop George’s sullen mood had only worsened. He’d spent the entirety of the walk going over the encounter in his mind, replaying it over and over and over until he thought he would die of embarrassment. How could he ever go there again? George wouldn’t dare, not with the risk of running into  _ him _ . 

Him. 

George slumps onto his woolen couch, wishing he could sink into its cushions and never emerge. How could he have embarrassed himself like that in front of this perfect stranger? He was usually so careful, so guarded with his emotions. Yet there he had sat, gawking at a random person in a coffee shop for god knows how long. He doesn’t want to think about how much longer it could’ve been if the man hadn’t looked up. 

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. 

George can picture it all so clearly; the man’s verdant eyes, his slightly raised brow, the traces of a smile evident even from behind his mask. The look on his face was almost mocking, as if to say  _ “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.” _

George stands up abruptly, breaking free of his stupor. He shakes his head in abnegation. If there was anything he wasn’t going to do, it was waste his time over a five-second interaction with a stranger he’d never see again.

After a few days of staying home with nothing but his PC for company, George decides that there’s no point in avoiding the inevitable. Tugging on his heavy coat and a red cashmere scarf, he prepares for another journey through the freshly fallen snow. The frigid air transforms his breath into a white fog; he’s decided to head out earlier than usual to avoid any possibility of running into the man from the coffeeshop. In fact, he’s chosen a different place altogether to visit today. Maybe he's being paranoid, but George doesn’t care. Although, he wishes he could’ve found somewhere closer to his apartment. This new place is nearly a thirty-minute walk away, and combined with the relentless sleet, he might as well be walking through hell. 

_ Oh well,  _ he thinks.  _ The ends justify the means _ . 

He sets off into the city, navigating through new snowdrifts that turn the sidewalks into a slushy maze. As he walks, he lets his eyes wander. He finds himself gazing up at the skyline, something he hasn’t done since July when he first arrived in the city. It was such a tourist-y thing to do, and after weeks of condescending glances and grumbles of annoyance he had decided that it wasn’t that interesting anyways. Now, as he surveys the horizon, he can see how much things have changed. The tops of buildings have been swallowed up by clouds that sprinkle tiny snowflakes onto the street below. Faded billboards advertise messages from months past, no one bothered to change their displays. Trees line the streets, the wind pulling what little leaves they have left from their branches and scattering them on the concrete. As he continues to walk, George’s eyes fall on the stoplight before him, which is approaching as he nears the end of the sidewalk. He comes to a stop next to a group of about six people who, like him, are waiting to cross the street. Determined to avoid any awkward interactions, George pulls out his phone, inattentively scrolling through his Twitter feed. All of a sudden, he gets the sense that someone is looking at him. He glances up just in time to catch a glimpse of someone’s eyes—green eyes.

_ Fuck. _

He’s seen those eyes before. They’ve appeared in his dreams for the past several days, taunting him. He thought he could escape, but they’ve found him once again.

Only this time, it’s real.

He screws his eyes shut, praying for it all to be a dream. Maybe if he waits long enough, it will be. When he opens his eyes, he’ll be greeted by the familiar sight of the popcorn ceiling above his bed, the fan that squeaks with each rotation as dust cascades from its blades into the early morning sunlight. He’ll wake up, and then he’ll go to get coffee like he always does. Everything will be normal.

He opens his eyes.

_ Dammit. _

The man is still there, only now there is a puzzled look on his face. He takes a breath in as if he’s about to say something, but then stops. At that moment, George turns away, facing the other side of the street. His face burns as hot embarrassment washes over him, and he wants to run. Back to his apartment, back to his room, where he can hide under the covers and never come out. How much of a coincidence does something have to be before it’s not? It feels like the universe is baiting him. Miraculously, the light flashes crimson, and the crowd of pedestrians begin to shuffle across the street. George moves ahead of them, walking as briskly as possible as to avoid any further confrontations with the man from the coffee shop. By the time he reaches the other side of the street he is all but running, the icy wind stinging his cheeks and ruffling his hair. As George maneuvers through the passersby on the sidewalk, he hears a shout from behind him. 

“Hey!”

He doesn’t bother turning around. It’s probably not directed towards him anyways. As he continues to walk, he hears the voice again.

“Red scarf!”

_ Fuck shit fuck fuck shit fuck. _

It’s the guy from the coffee shop. It has to be. He’s recognized George from the other day, and now he’s going to confront him in front of all these people. The man calls out a third time. 

“Wait!”

George ignores it. Maybe if he pretends he didn’t hear, the man will give up and leave him alone. Picking up his speed, he hastily makes his way to the next crosswalk. He can see the timer on the light; if he moves quickly enough, he can cross and leave him behind. As he approaches the curb, George fails to notice a crack in the sidewalk. Any other day he could’ve easily avoided it, but this particular time his preoccupied mind skips over it. However, George does not. The toe of his boot gets caught and he stumbles, bracing himself as the concrete approaches his face. Suddenly he is yanked back, a strong grip catching him by the forearm and pulling him back onto his feet. Startled, George whips around to see none other than the man from the coffee shop, who is standing behind him with a concerned, if not amused, look on his face. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, the slightest tinge of worry in his voice. 

George swallows, trying to mask his embarrassment.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “You sure? Cause you seemed pretty frantic a few seconds ago. The light isn’t  _ that _ important, you know.”

George scowls. “I know that. And just why were you following me?”

Scoffing, the man replies, “I wasn’t following you, per se. I just thought I recognized you from somewhere. And I do.”

George feels his face get hot again. This is what he was dreading. Regardless, he is determined to not let this stranger get the best of him. 

“Oh really? And where exactly do you remember me from?”

“That coffee place on 5th.”

_ Shit. He remembers. _

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“That’s weird. One would think you’d remember, from the way you were staring at me from across the shop.”

George’s face turns even more red as a combination of shock, anger, and embarrassment hits him like a flash. “I was not!”

“Oh, so you admit that you were there!” the man says, chuckling. “Don’t worry, you weren’t being that obvious. I can always tell when someone is checking me out.”

George chokes, his cheeks burning despite the cold. “I wasn’t—I didn’t—” his voice trails off as words fail him.

The stranger smirks. His mask may conceal his true expression, but George can see the mirth in his eyes.

“Here, come with me,” he says, picking up George’s keys from the concrete from where they’ve fallen and handing them back to him. “Let me buy you a coffee or something.”

George looks up, bewildered. “I don—why would I want to go anywhere with  _ you _ ?”

Without skipping a beat, the man responds. “Oh, come on. It’s the least I can do. Besides, I just saved you from busting your ass on the pavement.”

“You’re the reason why I fell,” George points out.

“Yeah, I seem to have that effect on people.”

George blinks, unable to process his words.

For the first time that day, the man laughs—truly laughs—at George’s flustered expression. “Come on. I know a good place just a few blocks from here.”

“I’m not going.”

“Aw, why not?” the man asks, feigning hurt.

George can think of about a hundred reasons, none of which he wants to say out loud. “Well first of all, I don’t even know your name.”

“My name?” the man asks.

“Your name,” George repeats.

With a glint in his eyes, the man responds. 

“My name is Dream.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think! any comments, compliments, or constructive criticism really helps <3


End file.
